


Give and Take

by orphan_account



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Bond, Blood Drinking, Dom/sub Play, Ghouls, Human/Vampire Relationship, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Sexual Experimentation, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mercurio has always suspected his big mouth would get him in trouble one day.
Relationships: Sebastian LaCroix/Mercurio
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> Mildly dubious consent due to blood bond.

Mercurio slowly rises to his feet, his entire body buzzing, licking blood off his lower lip.

Still seated at his desk, free hand writing away, Sebastian LaCroix has barely moved. If the Prince gets anything from these monthly visits, he's not showing it; Mercurio feels just a trickle of frustration down his spine at the icy exterior.

It's such blinding goddamn pleasure for him, on his knees, the taste of blood filling his senses. Would it kill the bastard (again) to at least look at him while he's doing it?

The tiny cut has already healed away. Fastidiously, LaCroix buttons the cuff, straightens the jacket sleeve. "You are dismissed," he says, gaze still fixed on the paperwork.

Mercurio almost jumps out the door at the commanding tone, but stops and slows himself with a healthy dose of pure stubbornness. For a moment, he hesitates, almost rocking on the balls of his feet, wondering if he should just get on with it and leave, or if he should ask the question hovering on his lips.

"D'you get anything out of that?" he blurts out before his sense of self-preservation can kick his ass into gear, "The whole... giving me blood thing?"

Mercurio has always suspected his big mouth would get him in trouble one day. Mercurio suspects that day is today.

Slowly, LaCroix sets down the pen, lifts his head to meet Mercurio's gaze. His pale eyes are searching, his eyebrows raised; Mercurio swallows roughly.

Right. Yeah. His implacable boss is a two-century-old vampire Prince who could kill him like squashing a bug. Still, he hasn't hurt Mercurio.

Yet, anyway.

"Why," LaCroix says, his voice hovering somewhere between 'frosty' and 'vaguely curious', "Do you ask?"

Mercurio rocks back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the tremor in them. "Just," he mutters, suddenly wondering how much of a mistake this was and how likely LaCroix was to kick his ass for asking, "Doesn't seem fair. S'damn good for me, but you don't even react to it. You didn't even look away from your paperwork."

LaCroix always looks inscrutable, but there's the very faintest hint of uncertainty there. Confusion. Mercurio's caught him by surprise, he thinks; he doubts many of LaCroix's other ghouls have asked him that question. "How I feel about it is irrelevant," he eventually says with a smooth shrug. "This is... a means to an end. A reward for your good service."

"Yeah, but -" Mercurio starts, and instantly clamps down on his words before he can say something incriminating.

"'But'?"

"Nothin'." Mercurio hunches his shoulders like he's expecting recrimination. "I was just... yeah, it's nothin'."

LaCroix shakes his head. "No," he says, and his tone is mild but the _under_ tone so forcefully compelling Mercurio knows there's no point in resisting. "Tell me what you were going to say."

_Goddammit,_ Mercurio thinks, and raises his gaze sheepishly. "I was just thinking that - uh - you make me feel good. With the whole... blood thing. So I wanted to like -" Ugh, he doesn't even want to admit this, knows it's probably an artifact of the blood bond and thus not his real feelings anyway, can't refuse saying it for the same reason. "To - make you - feel good too."

Christ. LaCroix is going to throw him out the window.

Those eyebrows still haven't lowered, but now there's the shadow of a rare smile on the Prince's lips. "Is that so," he murmurs, and Mercurio mentally braces himself for the next words, the ones that'll send him back to LaCroix's side, back on his knees, back to waiting for whatever scraps LaCroix is willing to give him. "I assume you mean via -" A hesitation, like he's trying to work out a polite way to say 'sucking dick' - "...Carnal methods."

Yeah. Yeah, that'd do it. Mercurio nods shortly, trying to pretend his cheeks aren't burning.

LaCroix actually does smile this time, looking amused, like Mercurio has been particularly good entertainment for the evening. "A human-enough assumption, I suppose. Still," he adds, and shakes his head, "This is not something Kindred routinely engage in. We have... higher pleasures."

Mercurio blinks, and some of the more... salacious rumors he's heard about the residents of Santa Monica rise in the forefront of his mind. "Wait, seriously?" he says, his mouth still moving faster than his common sense, "Because like, I don't mean to be crude but there's this lady - one of your kind, runs the Asylum club with her sister - name's Jeanette, _bangin'_ bod, and the stories about her says she definitely, uh, does. Engage in it. Routinely. _Really_ routinely."

The Prince actually blinks, then shakes his head. "I suppose some may engage in the act to maintain some connection to humanity." He says it like he's reading some interesting sciencey document, like it's something so outside of his own experience it's not even worth considering. "Still, the pleasure of sex -" Mercurio almost blushes at LaCroix saying the word straight out - "Is minimal compared to the pleasure of the Kiss. I don't expect you to understand."

"So like, is the whole biting thing just _really_ fuckin' good and sex is just regular good?" Damn it all, but Mercurio's mouth keeps moving and won't stop. "Or is sex no good at all and biting is, like, what you guys do instead? Like, if I sucked your dick, would you get off on it?"

He regrets the words about a second after he says them. God. LaCroix isn't just going to throw him off the top of the tower, he's going to feed his remains to the rats.

It really is unfair that vampires can't blush. He likes to think that LaCroix is at _least_ a bit flustered. But no - instead, the bastard simply raises his eyebrows again, gives Mercurio another searching look, and says, "What was the phrase, again? 'Don't let your mouth write checks your body can't cash'?"

Mercurio opens his mouth to apologize, realizes what LaCroix just said, and his train of thought promptly crashes into a wall. "Uh - what?"

This time, the Prince outright smirks, rising elegantly from his chair and gesturing for Mercurio to follow him over to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. His mouth suddenly dry, Mercurio follows helplessly.

LaCroix settles on to the sofa, arm flung across the back like it's a throne, gestures with an elegant hand for Mercurio to kneel in front of him like he has so many times. "You wished to... make me feel good?" he says, and Mercurio can practically hear the quotation marks around the words. "Very well. You may attempt to do so."

Only a two-hundred-year-old vampire Prince could make a request for a blowjob sound like an invitation to some great privilege. Mercurio is pretty sure he's holding his breath as he reaches for LaCroix's belt, hesitating once before unbuckling it with shaking hands.

He's only worked for the guy for a few years at this point, his previous domitors never quite so detached. They had never held themselves away from him to the point where he had _needed_ to ask the question that had been on his lips tonight, to see if there were any breaks in the armor, any desire or passion beneath cool skin.

They had been bosses. He had worked for them and left, and he had never felt this draw to exploration, the urge to learn what lies beneath. They had never thrown up walls so high he had wanted to see what was on the other side.

LaCroix has always kept his distance. He had summoned Mercurio to his side once a month, had carefully slit his wrist with a small silver knife, had bade Mercurio drink and then leave. Mercurio feels too big for his skin as he folds the belt away, unzips the neat black pants. Despite the invitation, the instruction, he almost hesitates to actually touch the guy, the pale, clear skin being revealed as the Prince unbuttons his jacket and shirt.

Wordlessly, LaCroix rises and lets Mercurio peel the fabric from him like unwrapping a gift before settling down again.

Mercurio feels hopelessly out of control, kneeling between his master's thighs, those cold not-quite blue eyes fixed on him. He glances up once then, sharply, away; just that instant of eye contact is almost too much for him to bear.

No, LaCroix has all the power here, Mercurio knows that intimately. He's perfectly in control, the lines and planes of his body still and cool under Mercurio's hands, not showing the slightest hint of fluster or even arousal.

He wants to see him lose that composure. He wants to see Sebastian LaCroix with his head thrown back in pleasure, with both hands tangled in Mercurio's hair, clinging to him to keep himself grounded, to see him gasping and shivering under Mercurio's touch. To show something other than that damnable wall he throws up in front of everyone, to show some goddamn _passion_.

LaCroix watches him coolly, implacably, as Mercurio takes him in hand and begins to stroke.

Mercurio takes his time. He wants to learn the body under him, not just serve it mindlessly; if he's going to be a servant, he wants to be one who's wide awake and conscious. He's seen what happens to too many ghouls who lose themselves to pleasure and to their domitor's demands and he refuses to let it happen to him, needs to know that his master is a person and not a figure beyond approach or reproach.

Still, though. LaCroix isn't making it easy for him, gazing down with his expression almost bored as Mercurio licks and sucks, kisses and nuzzles his cool flesh. And yeah, fine, it's been a while since he's gone down on a guy, but the total lack of response he's getting is just a bit of a kick in the ego.

"Nothin'?" Mercurio finally says, trying not to whine as he lifts his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Come on, boss. Throw me a bone, here." (Okay, not his finest choice of words.) "What do I gotta do to make you feel good?"

Goddammit, is LaCroix _smirking_? Mercurio catches his gaze for an instant then away, staring at his lips instead, at the way the smirk is ever so slightly lopsided. "I must admit," LaCroix says without the slightest hint of apology in his voice, "I was curious to see how long you would keep trying. Kindred have perfect mastery of our bodies. We can engage in physical pleasure if our blood wills it, and no amount of crass fumbling will convince our bodies otherwise."

Mercurio's shoulders slump. He is absolutely, positively not pouting. "So, what? You were just fuckin' with me? You were letting me make a dumbass of myself for no reason?"

"To teach you," LaCroix says. He reaches out, lifts Mercurio's chin so he can't even think to look away. "To remind you. We are not human. We do not feel the same way you do. Human perceptions of pleasure are something we can engage in as a pleasant distraction only - our true priority is _blood_."

The hand under Mercurio's chin shifts, grabs a handful of his shirt, and hauls him upwards, pulls him into a bruising kiss. There are teeth in it; Mercurio inhales sharply, through his nose, when LaCroix's fangs sink into his bottom lip and the copper tang of his own blood fills his mouth.

When LaCroix lets him go, Mercurio realizes the Prince's lips have grown warm. There's color to his skin, now; there's a flush around the high cheekbones, the intense eyes almost true blue.

"But still, sometimes a pleasant distraction can be welcome," LaCroix murmurs, and guides Mercurio back down again. Mercurio glances down, and grins.

"That's more like it," he says, and wraps his lips around the head of LaCroix's cock.

It's a lot more fun having something to work with. Even if he's not getting a whole lot of reactions out of the Prince himself, his body is responsive enough, reacting to Mercurio's ministrations. And yeah, okay, having warm skin to press his lips to, to worship with his tongue, to bite at with blunt human teeth, it's just _nicer_ than cool porcelain flesh.

Still, there are differences; Mercurio notes each one meticulously. When he lifts his head to press kisses and love bites to the inside of the Prince's thigh, the skin reddens and flushes, but the stillness of the muscles beneath his lips is unnatural. LaCroix is hard now, but there's no precome glistening at the tip of his cock, the only wetness there what Mercurio's mouth has left.

There's inhuman grace and beauty in those limbs. Mercurio doesn't need to be blood bound to recognize that.

Something leaps in his stomach when he feels the hand in his hair; Mercurio flicks his gaze up to see LaCroix watching him with something approaching fascination, his hand merely settled on his head, not yet grasping and desperate. Mercurio barely resists the urge to grin, not looking away, keeping their gazes locked as he takes the Prince's cock in his mouth again and sinks down.

He's rewarded with a minute twist of the lips. Eyes half-lidded, still searchingly, piercingly focused on him. It's not much, but it's a reaction; Mercurio vows on the spot that he won't stop until he has LaCroix lost in a haze of pleasure.

He's focusing with single-minded intent, trying every fancy trick he's ever either been on the giving or receiving end of. And hell, even if LaCroix isn't getting off on it yet, it's not stopping Mercurio himself; one-handed, he fumbles with the zip of his black jeans, groaning around LaCroix's cock as he finally frees his own, stroking roughly.

The Prince chuckles wryly from above him. "Were you not supposed to be doing this for my benefit?" he says, voice still barely pushing 'moderately amused' despite all Mercurio's efforts. "It hardly seems worth it if you're simply going to use the opportunity to pleasure yourself instead."

Mercurio lifts his head with a wet pop, smiles through his embarrassment. "Well, you're hot," he points out, deciding honesty hasn't done him any ill so far and so he may as well continue with it. "Do you, uh, want me to stop?"

LaCroix considers him for a moment, then those pale lips curve in a faint smirk. "You may as well have your little enjoyments," he says, and pushes Mercurio back down.

Still, it's getting to him. Mercurio has never been with anyone quite so adamant to not enjoy himself, and the frustration is building. His movements are getting impatient. He's sucking harder, pressing down hard on the Prince's thighs, raking lines down them with his nails; LaCroix makes a little stunned sound at the last and sudden panic settles on Mercurio's shoulders.

He glances from the red lines his nails have left, then, guiltily, up at LaCroix. The panic falters, seeing parted, bitten lips and an obvious flush on the pale face.

From the scratches? Mercurio frowns, glances at the fading marks, then back up at the Prince's flustered face. Slowly, delicately, he asks, "Do you... like it rough?"

LaCroix presses his lips together, although the blush still has yet to fade. "That seems to be the correct conclusion," he mutters, glaring down at Mercurio like he's daring him to challenge him. "Do it again."

Mercurio does so before he even thinks about it, too used to the tone of voice that makes him ask 'how high?' when LaCroix asks him to jump. He digs his nails in, scratches viciously as a wildcat, lowers his head to bite and leave bruises against his skin.

Maybe it's the implicit order he had been given. Maybe there's some subconscious desire just to hurt the guy. But he does what he's told to, soaks in the reactions he's getting, the way pain seems to be so much closer to pleasure for the Prince on the top of the city.

He can understand it. He can. Mercurio isn't exactly that way inclined himself, but he knows how much bullshit pressure LaCroix goes through, every hour of every night. He knows LaCroix has to be manager, tactician, figurehead. And if he can let go, if he has the opportunity to let someone _else_ make the decisions for him...

Then, yeah. Mercurio can give that to him.

He's going to get murdered if he's picked this wrong. But -

Mercurio pushes himself up to straddle him, grabs a handful of the Prince's golden hair, yanks his head back. Presses his lips to LaCroix's throat in a parody, a reversal of roles, and bites down as hard as his little human teeth can manage.

There's a gasp from LaCroix's bitten lips. His body shudders under Mercurio's, hips jerking. "Again," he demands, voice strained.

He bites hard enough to draw blood. Laps the few scarlet beads up eagerly before the wound seals over, then presses another bruising kiss to those lips. "You like that?" he says, trying not to let his voice tremble.

" _Yes_."

Result. Mercurio grins, only half in relief that he's not about to be killed for his indiscretions. "Good." He's using the voice he uses against some of the more aggressive contacts he has, coarser, aggressive, a don't-fuck-with-me pitch to it. "Good. You want this rough? We're gonna do this one of two ways, and I'm gonna let you choose."

It's normally not in this context. He normally doesn't have his hazy-eyed centuries-old vampire Prince domitor arching under him, hips jerking upwards in desperation for stimulation. God, he never would have even dared to _fantasize_ about this.

"You can suck my dick," he says, and he punctuates it with another kiss, biting down on the already-bloodied lip, the heady taste of LaCroix's blood filling his senses. "I can fuck your mouth until I come all over your pretty face. Or I can push you into those cushions there and fuck your ass until you're screaming."

(A detached part of his mind wonders where the hell this is coming from. He likes sex, has never been shy about it. But he likes having fun with his partners, something mutual and even, not - not this casual degradation, this kind of roughness.)

(But if this is what his Prince wants, how can he say no?)

LaCroix's eyes are unfocused, still flushed and flustered; his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "The - second option."

"Say it. Say what you want."

"I want you to fuck me."

"Say 'please'!"

LaCroix's expression sharpens; Mercurio wilts. " _Please_ fuck me or I'll feed you to the Nosferatu."

Yeah, okay, maybe he overstepped the limits there a little. "Yeah," he says roughly, and pushes three fingers into the Prince's mouth. "Yeah, I'll fuck you. Suck first. I'm guessin' you don't got a whole lot of lube up here."

There's a flash of something in LaCroix's eyes that Mercurio doesn't quite have the presence of mind to analyze right now. But he does as Mercurio says, and isn't that a thrill in and of itself? And his mouth is hardly inexpert, anointing Mercurio's fingers, soft tongue swirling around each digit. He's still looking up at him, meeting Mercurio's gaze as he sucks expertly on his fingers, quietly challenging, quietly daring him to say something.

The words are caught in Mercurio's throat. He's not sure if he wants to apologize or thank him, praise him or kiss him, or just run and never look back.

The Prince's narrow hand closes around Mercurio's wrist and draws his hand away with a wet sound. "Mercurio," he says, and Mercurio's breath catches at the heat and intensity and _need_ in the syllables of his name. "I want you to fuck me. _Please_."

How the hell can he say no to that? With a groan, he stands and rids LaCroix of the rest of his clothes, dropping them over the side of the sofa. LaCroix lets himself be manhandled, submissive in a way Mercurio has never seen him, the obvious need still written all over his face, through the elegant lines of his body.

Still, he's gentle - well, gentle- _ish_ \- when he shoves LaCroix back onto the couch, hands and knees, head down, ass up. Mercurio can't resist giving it a swat, gratified by both the red hand print against pale skin and the breathy moan it produces.

"Good boy," he says, pretending he doesn't feel like a dirty old man (and never mind the fact that LaCroix is over a century older than him). "You might wanna bite a cushion or somethin'."

God, LaCroix is so _tight_ around his fingers. Mercurio is almost shaking in his need, at the thought of what it would finally feel like sheathed in the Prince's body. How long had it been for him? Maybe all the way back to the days before his Embrace, back to his humanity?

He doesn't want to mess this up. Doesn't want to accidentally hurt LaCroix, desire for roughness notwithstanding. He's meticulous as he twists and scissors his fingers, prepares his body, has to bite back his own groan when LaCroix drops down on his forearms, lays his head down and moans openly.

His back is arching, pushing back against Mercurio's fingers, shuddering around him. It's probably a good thing he can't see Mercurio's face right now, because Mercurio can't quite stop himself from grinning ridiculously, carefully memorizing every last second to savor and enjoy when he's alone in his bed in Santa Monica.

"Fuck me," LaCroix breathes, the words never so obscene as falling from the lips of a Camarilla Prince. "Fuck me, dammit!"

"Impatient," Mercurio chides, aiming another stinging smack at his ass. It's so hard to keep in character when he just wants to jump at every request, every demand; he wants to damn near _worship_ the guy, not cause him pain, not degrade him.

But pain and degradation is what LaCroix wants. So that is what Mercurio will give him.

It's probably enough. Mercurio slides his fingers free, grabs the Prince's hips, and buries himself in his body.

His first thought is that fucking LaCroix isn't so different to any other guy. His body is warm (thanks to whatever weird blood trickery he did), and responsive, and deliciously tight around him, and when Mercurio pulls halfway out and slams back in again, the cry of pleasure he gets is human enough.

But there's something intoxicating about knowing just _who_ it is under him, _who_ it is with his legs spread, back arching, whimpering and gasping into the cushions as Mercurio grabs a fistful of golden hair and pushes his face into the fabric. The body beneath him that he's using for his pleasure is his _Prince_ , the most powerful vampire in the entirety of Los Angeles. Centuries old, in command of abilities and strength that could ruin Mercurio as easily as Mercurio drew breath, the intoxicating power of his blood rendering him helpless.

_That's_ who he's with. _That's_ who he's got pinned down on the sofa, wrenching moans from his lips with each thrust.

"Mercurio," LaCroix breathes between moans, "Stop -" 

Mercurio stops so suddenly he almost sprains something. "You okay?" he whispers anxiously, "Did I, like - do something wrong?"

LaCroix shakes his head, turns just enough for Mercurio to catch the naked want on his face. "Let me turn around. I want to see your face when you come in me."

A whimper drops from Mercurio's lips. He eases out, back, rests his hands on his thighs as LaCroix reorients himself and wraps his legs around Mercurio's hips.

"Good. You may get back to fucking me now."

Breathlessly, Mercurio laughs, does just that. "I thought I was givin' the orders here."

"It seems to be a give and take kind of encounter."

Not as rough, now. Not as violent. The angles are different, LaCroix's body pressed against his, one of Mercurio's arms wrapped around the Prince's waist as the other braces against the sofa cushions. He can kiss him this way, and does, and lets out a desperate-sounding whine when LaCroix bites down his lip and lets sweet vitae fill both their mouths.

_You're goddamn beautiful,_ Mercurio does not say.

"Prince LaCroix," he says hoarsely, then, " _Sebastian_ \- I'm gonna come -"

If the Prince says anything about Mercurio's use of his name, Mercurio doesn't hear it, too overcome by the waves of pleasure sweeping over him, the intimacy, the warmth, the taste of blood. His hips jerk as he reaches his climax violently, and he has just enough time to see LaCroix's eyes glitter before he murmurs, "My turn," and sinks his fangs into Mercurio's throat.

Goddamn. God _damn_. If drinking from the Prince feels good, being drank from feels like sex, drugs, and rock and roll in one neat package. Mercurio is gasping, hips still going, wringing out the last of his climax, and he's pretty sure that if he dies here right here and now, he'll go out with the biggest damn smile on his face that Los Angeles has ever seen.

When the dizzy haze of blinding pleasure finally wears off enough for Mercurio to show conscious thought again, he's lying sprawled on to of LaCroix, neck and chest sticky with his own blood, stomach sticky with... other bodily fluids. LaCroix gives him a lazy smile, like a cat that's just got the cream and several other treats beside, licking the last of Mercurio's blood off his lips.

"Get off," he says, nudging at Mercurio's shoulder. "There's a bathroom to the right. Get yourself presentable."

"Right," Mercurio says dazedly, stumbling to his feet and collecting his clothes, already missing the warmth and contact.

He looks like he's gone several rounds with a two-by-four and lost, lips bruised and bitten (his own bites, looks like - the ones from LaCroix have already healed), still bloodied up, hair in spectacular disarray. Mercurio grins, gives his reflection the finger guns, and gets himself back to something approaching 'presentable'.

Yeah, that's as good as he's going to get. Patting down his hair once more, Mercurio straightens his jacket, steps back into the main room, spots a shiny and polished LaCroix in conversation with the enormous Sheriff, and abruptly realizes he never actually saw the guy _leave_ that whole time.

Mercurio nearly swallows his tongue. He is so, so getting murdered. "Ah. Right. Uh - hi," he says weakly, and gives a pathetic little wave. "Uh. Sorry. About, uh, what you've seen."

The Prince smirks. "I'm sure he has no particular thoughts one way or another regarding you," he says in a way that makes it sound like he thinks it's reassuring, "And his knowledge of me is... intimate. Next time, incidentally, do ask for where the lubricant is, simply using saliva is so uncivilized."

It takes a moment for the meaning of the words to penetrate Mercurio's post-climax brain fog, but when it does, he blinks. "Wait, you and him?"

"For longer than you have been alive, yes."

"But you said you didn't have sex!"

"No, I said the pleasure was minimal compared to the pleasure of blood." LaCroix is grinning openly, not even trying to hide his smugness. "I never said I didn't engage in it at all. You made that assumption yourself."

"Goddamn," Mercurio says, and starts laughing. "All that shit earlier, all that trying and trying to make you feel good, and you knew the whole time _exactly_ what kinda shit you were in to?"

The Prince looks far too pleased with himself, composed again, hands folded. "And now you know, too," he says mildly, then gestures for the door. "You should leave. I will send any new requests to you via email."

"Right. Uh. Right, yeah."

He's going to run back to Santa Monica and hide under his bed for the rest of the month. He may throw himself off the pier in sheer embarrassment. He'll just have to pack up and find a new city.

"And, Mercurio?"

Mercurio, against his better judgement, hesitates at the door. "Yeah?"

Sebastian LaCroix smirks, and says, "See you in a month."


End file.
